What, man! I know them, yea,
And what they weigh even to the utmost scruple;
Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander.
Much Ado about Nothing, act 5, scene 1.
Walter could not help hearing a part of this conversation, and he was
pained and surprised that Kenrick, whom he had regarded as so fine a
character, should show his worst side at home, and should speak and act
thus unkindly to one whom he was so deeply bound to love and reverence.
And he was even more surprised when he went downstairs again and looked
on the calm face of his friend's mother, so lovely, so gentle, so
resigned, and felt the charm of manners which, in their natural grace
and sweetness, might have shed lustre on a court. All that he could
himself do was to show by his own manner to Mrs Kenrick the affection
and respect with which he regarded her. When he hinted to Kenrick, as
delicately and distantly as he could, that he thought his manner to his
mother rather brusque, Kenrick reddened rather angrily, but only
replied, "Ah, it's all very well for you to talk; but you don't live at
Fuzby."
"Yet I've enjoyed my visit very much, Ken; you can't think how much I
love your mother."
"Thank you, Walter, for saying so. But how would you like to _live
always_ at such a place?"
"If I did I should do my best to make it happy."
"Make it _happy_!" said Kenrick; and as he turned away he muttered
something about making a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Soon after he
told Walter some of those circumstances about his father's life which we
have recently related. When the three days were over the boys started
for Saint Winifred's. They drove to the station in the pony-chaise
before described, accompanied, against Kenrick's will, by his mother.
She bore up bravely as she bade them good-bye, knowing the
undemonstrative character of boys, and seeing that they were both in the
merriest mood. She knew, too, that their gaiety was natural: the world
lay before _them_, bright and seductive as yet, with no shadow across
its light; nor was she all in all to Harry as he was to her. He had
other hopes, and another home, and other ties; and remembering this she
tried not to grieve that he should leave her with so light a heart. But
as she turned away from the platform when the train had started, taking
with it all that she held dearest in the world, and as she walked back
to the lonely home which had nothing but faith--for there was not even
hope--to brighten it, the quiet tears flowed fast over the fair face
beneath her veil. Yet as she crossed over her lonely threshold her
thoughts were not even then for herself, but they carried her on the
wings of prayer to the throne of mercy for the beloved boy from whom she
was again to be separated for nearly five long months.
The widowed mother wept; but the boy's spirits rose as he drew closer to
the hills and to the sea, which told him that Saint Winifred's was near.
He talked happily with Walter about the coming half--eager with
ambition, with hope, with high spirits, and fine resolutions. He
clapped his hands with pleasure when they reached the top of Bardlyn
Hill and caught sight of the school buildings.
Having had a long distance to travel they were among the late arrivals,
and at the great gate stood Henderson and Power ready to greet them and
the other boys who came with them in the same coach. Among these were
Eden and Bliss.
"Ah, Eden," said Henderson, "I've been writing a poem about you--
"I'm a shrimp, I'm a shrimp of diminutive size,
Inspect my antennae and look at my eyes;
Quick, quick, feel me quick, for cannot you see
I'm a shrimp, I'm a shrimp, to be eaten with tea?"
"And who's this?--why," he said clasping his hands and throwing up his
eyes in mock rapture, "this indeed is Bliss!"
"I'll lick you, Flip," said Bliss, only in a more good-humoured tone
than usual, as he hit at him.
"I think I've heard that observation before," said Henderson, dodging
away. "Ah, Walter, how do you do, my dear old fellow? I hope you're
sitting on the throne of health, and reclining under the canopy of a
well-organised brain."
"More than you are, Flip," said Walter laughing. "You seem madder than
ever."
"That he is," said Power; "since his return he's made on an average
fifteen thousand bad puns. You ought to be grateful, though, for he and
I have got some coffee going for you in my study. Come along; the
Familiar will see that your luggage is all right."
"Yes; and I shall make bold to bring in a shrimp to tea," said
Henderson, seizing hold of Eden.
"All right. I meant to ask you, Eden," said Power, shaking the little
boy affectionately by the hand; "have you enjoyed the holidays?"
"Not very much," said Eden.
"You're not looking as bright as I should like," said Power; "never
mind; if you didn't enjoy the holidays you must enjoy the half."
"That I shall. I hope, Walter, you'll be in the same dormitory still.
What shall I do if you're not?"
"O, how's that to be, Flip?" asked Walter; "you said you'd try to get
some of us put together in one dormitory. That would be awfully jolly.
I don't want to leave you, Eden, and would like you to be moved too; but
I can't bear Harpour and that lot."
"I've partly managed it and partly failed," said Henderson. "You and
the shrimp still stay with the rest of the set in Number 10, but as
there was a vacant bed I got myself put there too."
"Hurrah!" said Walter and Eden both at once; "that's capital."
"Let me see," said Walter; "there are Jones and Harpour--brutes
certainly both of them; and Cradock--well, he's rather a bargee, but
he's not altogether bad; and Anthony, and Franklin, who are both far
jollier than they used to be; indeed I like old Franklin very much; so
with you and Eden we shall get on famously."
The first few days of term passed very pleasantly. The masters met the
boys in the kindliest spirit, and the boys, fresh from home and with the
sweet influences of home still playing over them, did not begin at once
to reweave the ravelled threads of evil school tradition. They were all
on good terms with each other and with themselves, full of good
resolutions, cheerful, and happy.
All our boys had got their removes. Walter had won a double remove and
was now under his friend Mr Percival. Kenrick was in the second fifth,
and Power, young as he was, had now attained the upper fifth, which
stands next to the dignity of the monitors and the sixth.
The first Sunday of term was a glorious day of early spring, and the
boys, according to their custom, scattered themselves in various groups
in the grounds about Saint Winifred's School. The favourite place of
resort was a broad green field at the back of the buildings, shaded by
noble trees, and half encircled by a bend of the river. Here, on a fine
Sunday, between dinner and afternoon school, you were sure to find the
great majority of the boys walking arm in arm by twos and threes, or
sitting with books on the willow trunks that overhung the stream, or
stretched out at full length upon the grass, and lazily learning
Scripture repetition.
It was a sweet spot and a pleasant time; but Walter generally preferred
his beloved seashore; and on this afternoon he was sitting there talking
to Power, while Eden, perched on the top of a piece of rock close by,
kept murmuring to himself his afternoon lesson. The conversation of the
two boys turned chiefly on the holidays which were just over, and Power
was asking Walter about his visit to Kenrick's house.
"How did you enjoy the visit, Walter?"
"Very much for some things. Mrs Kenrick is the sweetest lady you ever
saw."
"But Ken is always abusing Fuzby--isn't that the name?"
"Yes; it isn't a particularly jolly place, certainly, but he doesn't
make the best of it; he makes up his mind to detest it."
"Why?"
"O, I don't know. They didn't treat his father well. His father was
curate of the place."
"As far as I've seen, Fuzby isn't singular in that respect. It's no
easy thing in most places for a poor clergyman to keep on good terms
with his people."
"Yes; but Ken's father does seem to have been abominably treated." And
Walter proceeded to tell Power the parts of Mr Kenrick's history which
Kenrick had told him.
When he had finished the story he observed that Eden had shut up his
book and was listening intently.
"Hallo, Arty," said Walter, "I didn't mean you to hear."
"Didn't you? I'm so sorry. I really didn't know you meant to be
talking secrets, for you weren't talking particularly low."
"The noise of the waves prevents that. But never mind; I don't suppose
it's any secret. Ken never told me not to mention it. Only, of course,
you mustn't tell any one, you know, as it clearly isn't a thing to be
talked about."
"No," said Eden; "I won't mention it, of course. So other people have
unhappy homes as well as me," he added in a low tone.
"What, isn't your home happy, Arty?" asked Power.
Eden shook his head. "It used to be, but this holidays mamma married
again. She married Colonel Braemar--and I _can't bear_ him." The words
were said so energetically as to leave no doubt that he had some grounds
for the dislike; but Power said--
"Hush, Arty, you must try to like him. Are you sure you know your Rep.
perfectly?"
"Yes."
"Then let's take a turn till the bell rings."
While this conversation was going on by the shore, a very different
scene was being enacted in the Croft, as the field was called which I
above described.
It happened that Jones, and one of his set, named Mackworth, were
walking up and down the Croft in one direction, while Kenrick and
Whalley, one of his friends, were pacing up and down the same avenue in
the opposite direction, so that the four boys passed each other every
five minutes. The first time they met, Kenrick could not help noticing
that Jones and Mackworth nudged each other derisively as he passed, and
looked at him with a glance unmistakably impudent. This rather
surprised him, though he was on bad terms with them both. Kenrick had
not forgotten how grossly Jones had bullied him when he was a new boy,
and before he had risen out of the sphere in which Jones could dare to
bully him with impunity. He was now so high in the school as to be well
aware that Jones would be nearly as much afraid to touch him as he
always was to annoy any one of his own size and strength; and Kenrick
had never hesitated to show Jones the quiet but quite measureless
contempt which he felt for his malice and meanness. Mackworth was a
bully of another stamp; he was rather a clever fellow, set himself up
for an aristocrat on the strength of being second cousin to a baronet,
studied "De Brett's Peerage," dressed as faultlessly as Tracy himself,
and affected at all times a studious politeness of manner. He had been
a good deal abroad, and as he constantly adopted the airs and the graces
of a fashionable person, the boys had felicitously named him French
Varnish. But Mackworth was a dangerous enemy, for he had one of the
most biting tongues in the whole school, and there were few things which
he enjoyed more than making a young boy wince under his cutting words.
When Kenrick came to school, his wardrobe, the work of Fuzbeian artists,
was not only well worn--for his mother was too poor to give him new
clothes--but also of a somewhat odd cut; and accordingly the very first
words Mackworth had ever addressed to Kenrick were--
"You new fellow, what's your father?"
"My father is dead," said Kenrick in a low tone.
"Then what _was_ he?"
"He was curate of Fuzby."
"Curate was he; a slashing trade that," was the brutal reply. "Curate
of Fuzby? are you sure it isn't Fusty?"
Kenrick looked at him with a strange glowing of the eyes, which, so far
from disconcerting Mackworth, only made him chuckle at the success of
his taunt. He determined to exercise the lancet of his tongue again,
and let fresh blood if possible.
"Well, glare-eyes! so you didn't like my remark?"